Table for two, please.

We recently took a weekend trip to a city we visit at least twice a year.  We always meet family here and partake in some innocent wagering on the horses.

We arrived late Friday night and told our parents to go ahead and eat without us.  When we are with our family, we tend to eat at the same restaurants.  Although they are tried and true and we always get a good meal at these places, we were anxious to seek out some new territory for a late dinner.

The first stop was a pizzeria that I had always thought look interesting.  I think it boasted an establishment date of 1959 so it has been around a long time.  And, that night it was packed.

We walked in and waited to be greeted and seated.  Neither happened.  This is always a sore spot with my husband and we were close to walking out when a waiter finally noticed us.  We asked politely for a table for two and he led us to what I will call “The Party Room.”  There were at least two LARGE families stuck in this room and he was attempting to stick us at a table (barely big enough for two) at the far wall.

“Ahem,”  I cleared my throat.  “Do you not have a different table for us?”

“Uhhh, I guess you can go outside.”

Now granted, it was about 45 degrees.  We followed him out the patio where he promised us a live band to boot.

There were three people on the patio, all sitting at different tables by themselves, and all of them in parkas.

“No, thanks,” we said and marched out.  He followed us by saying that his manager would be mad if he sat us at a four-top.

“What’s your next idea?” my husband asked.  I was about to resort to a chain restaurant like On the Border or Chili’s.

That’s when we spotted a cool place that boasted live blues.  I had seen the sign often on our many other trips and I Yelped it and found it it was also a “fine dining establishment.”

We parked and went in.

As we approached the door, I noticed a banner that seemed to be advertising a different bar—like this place had changed its name recently.  But, inside the door, we saw that the menus still had the original name.

Then I noticed a lot of things.  The band was not playing blues but “good ole boy” country classics (not that there is anything wrong with that :)).  The waitresses were wearing (I am not making this up) hot pink leopard print spandex (and they were short little pieces of spandex!).

We asked for another table for two and we were shown toward two itsy bitsy tables right by the door.

“Really?” (That would be my husband asking sarcastically.)  “Do you really not have anything else?”

Now, we are not old fuddy duddies (however, since I just used that term, I am beginning to wonder about myself), but we were starving at this point!

She showed us to a back room to a deserted area.  Still starving we ordered two Coronas (nothing on tap) and asked what was good.  After a few false starts (they were out of this, that wasn’t a special tonight, etc.), she steered us toward the “homemade” pizza.

Well, three Coronas (a piece) later and we found the pizza satisfying if nothing else.    I have to applaud our waitress though.  We left her  a pretty hefty tip because she had to run back to the main part of the bar and back in order to wait on us.

Outcome:  The next night with the parents—I made reservations!!!!

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